


Together

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Forehead Touches, M/M, Rickyl, daryl only punches the things he loves, kissy kissy, nose nuzzles, or something, spoilers for season 8 episode 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: "Whatever it was, when his fist connected with Rick’s face, he knew deep down that it wasn’t about their difference of opinion. Because if Daryl was being honest with himself, he knew Rick was right, no matter how bitter he was about the torture he’d endured. How many of those workers had been given a life or death ultimatum? How many of them would be more than happy to be free? How many of them were just taking safety where they could find it, just like Daryl had done once with the Claimers when he thought everyone he loved was lost?Those people weren’t fighters. But Daryl and Rick were. Which meant that Daryl punching Rick only had one natural and inevitable course of action."





	Together

Maybe it was because despite all the time they’d spent together, they hadn’t really talked about what happened to him when he was being held by Negan and his men. Or maybe it was just the time they were spending together itself. It had been easier for Daryl to convince himself that he didn’t feel anything when they were apart or surrounded by other people.

Whatever it was, when his fist connected with Rick’s face, he knew deep down that it wasn’t about their difference of opinion. Because if Daryl was being honest with himself, he knew Rick was right, no matter how bitter he was about the torture he’d endured. How many of those workers had been given a life or death ultimatum? How many of them would be more than happy to be free? How many of them were just taking safety where they could find it, just like Daryl had done once with the Claimers when he thought everyone he loved was lost?

Those people weren’t fighters. But Daryl and Rick were. Which meant that Daryl punching Rick only had one natural and inevitable course of action. Hands grappled at Daryl’s shirt and hair, and he could hear Rick grunting, could feel all the strength in his body. The contact reminded Daryl that if he was another person in another life, they might not have to fight each to touch like this.

His arm firmly around Rick’s neck in a classic chokehold, Daryl felt the storm of self-loathing inside him start to kick up dust. He knew he should stop. He knew they had a job to do and this wasn’t helping. But he just couldn’t get himself to let go.

Until he had no choice. Until the car behind them started to ignite and his brain instantly switched from fight mode to making sure Rick was safe. If he died because Daryl couldn’t handle how he felt about him, then the war and everything about it wouldn’t matter anymore because, well, Daryl may as well be dead too.

Somewhere in the few seconds they spent running away from the truck, they grabbed each other, hands clasped tightly in a death grip, both of them pulling the other away, both of them making sure the other survived to fight another day. When Rick let go to dive on the ground, Daryl felt a part of himself rip in two.

Safe on the grass, he turned and looked at Rick next to him, breathing heavily.

Then he waited, for Rick to lash out and tell him whatever hadn’t survived that explosion was on Daryl. But Rick didn’t say anything, which made it even worse. The quiet torment Daryl felt laying just inches away from the man he loved was worse than anything Dwight or Negan had ever done to him.

“Help me,” Rick said, pushing their fight aside for the moment. And Daryl helped, because that’s what Rick had asked of him. That and they still needed those guns.

It took them a moment to figure out a way to get at all the crates, the truck still burning, but they found a long enough stick to start pushing the boxes out of the flames. Together, they managed to salvage some of the lot.

Rick looked back, sighing at the burning pile that was everything else.

“Guess the Saviors still won’t get ‘em at least,” Rick said.

“Guess not.”

And at that response, Rick didn’t turn to look at him, sighing and tilting his head one way and then the other, a classic sign of frustration that Daryl had seen a million times. He waited for Rick to finish coiling up enough that a strike was inevitable. And there it was.  

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just stuck with the plan,” Rick said, his face hard as steel when he finally rounded on Daryl.

“Shit happens anyway, Rick,” Daryl said. Which was true, but not even close to what he really wanted to say, which was...well, he actually didn’t know.

“You do realize we’re at war, right?” Rick asked, which grated on every single one of Daryl’s nerves because how could he even ask him that?

“Do you?” Daryl retorted, hating himself a little bit more as the words left his mouth. Because how could  _he_ even ask  _Rick_  that?

“Yeah, whatever,” Rick said, testing to see if the boxes had cooled enough to move. Daryl reached for the bag of explosives and started to walk away.

“You have got to be shittin me,” Rick growled. And Daryl could already hear his boots crunching behind him. “I already said I can’t let you do this.”

Daryl swung around, a reply ready on his lips, but he didn’t get the chance to say it. Because when he turned, Rick’s fist was waiting for him, and they were fighting all over again, rolling around in the grass, limbs tangling together like spaghetti.

“We’re gonna stick with our plan for now. Anything else we discuss as a group,” Rick said, pinning him to the grass. “Let this go, Daryl.” Rick’s eyes were half-commanding, half-pleading as he looked down at the hunter, his thighs tight on either side of Daryl’s legs. 

“Yeah, or what?” Daryl asked, part of him knowing he could probably at least get his arms free if he really wanted, another part of him knowing he wasn’t even gonna try, because an angry Rick on top of him was still a Rick on top of him at any rate, which was more than he was ever gonna get once their disagreement was over.

“Daryl, please stop this,” Rick said. “I know what they did to you, but w-”

“Do you? What’d they do, Rick?” Daryl spat. “You ever even asked?”

“Jesus,” Rick said, loosening his grip enough that Daryl was able to pull his wrists free. But beyond that, Daryl didn’t move. “Is that what this is about?”

Daryl turned his head away, looking over at the grass next to him.

Above him, Rick sighed, his thighs no longer tightly pressed against Daryl. And Daryl knew he was about to get up, which filled him with waves of regret so strong, he almost whimpered. He should have kept him angry, anything to sustain that touch as long as possible. Anything for another fleeting second of closeness.

And Jesus, what kind of fucked up bullshit was he on? How old was he? Being shitty to Rick because he liked him like some asshole five-year-old.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said softly, rolling off Daryl onto the grass beside him. “I guess I figured you’d rather bring it up on your own than have me interrogate you.”

Fuck. Fuck because Rick hadn’t asked because he’d been trying to be sensitive to Daryl’s needs. And double-fuck because he was probably actually right.

Slowly, Daryl sat up and wrapped his hands loosely around his knees.

“We can talk about it now,” Rick said. “If that’s what you want. We could have talked about it anytime you needed though, Daryl. You should know that.”  
  
Daryl thumbed at the stitching on his jeans, feeling more and more awful with every swipe over the seam. 

“I’m an asshole,” Daryl said softly, finally breaking past the part of him inclined to lash out again and again.

“You’re not,” Rick said. “I should have realized...”

“You’re a good leader, Rick, but it ain't because you’re psychic,” Daryl said. “Then again, maybe that's a good thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rick asked, but his tone was light, not defensive.

“Nothin.”

“What’d they do, Daryl?”

“I think you were right,” Daryl said. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Which makes me an even bigger asshole, I guess.”

“Well clearly you’re not really pissed about us having different ideas on what we’re supposed to do here,” Rick said, “so what exactly are you pissed about?”

“You,” Daryl said without thinking, instantly wishing he could take it back, lock it up and feed the key to a passing walker. Because the hurt that washed over Rick’s face in that instant was enough to make him want to cut out his own heart with a fucking butter knife.

“The fuck did I do?” Rick asked.

“Nothin.” Daryl shook his head, preparing himself to stand up and move on like nothing had happened, like all the other times his emotions regarding Rick had in one way or another gotten the better of him. Bury it down and soldier on. That shit may as well have been his personal motto.

“No,” Rick said, “we aren’t doing this. You aren’t pretending there’s nothin you need to tell me when somethin is clearly eating away at you.”

“Rick, don’t.” Daryl stood up, reaching for the bag of explosives and putting them on his shoulder. He started toward the crate of guns, but Rick’s hand on his upper arm stopped him. Reluctantly, the hunter turned, meeting Rick’s piercing blue eyes that never ceased to make him feel like all the air had been violently punched out of his lungs.

I love you so goddamn much.

“Daryl, please talk to me,” Rick said, tilting his head to maintain eye contact when Daryl tried to look away. He felt like he was staring at the sun, only the sun was actively pursuing him, and every moment made him feel a little more like he was on fire.

Without thinking, he glanced at Rick’s mouth, every part of his being screaming with how much he wanted to kiss him. Quickly trying to correct for the error, he flicked his eyes back up to Rick's. With the slightest tilt of his head, the former cop’s eyebrows furrowed with temporary confusion.  
  
And then, in complete horror, Daryl watched it dawn on him. All of it. Every stare. Every touch. Every time Daryl risked himself to keep him alive. Every time Daryl shut down and tried to leave. Every single moment they had spent together since the quarry playing as a montage that could only lead to one inarguable conclusion. 

“Jesus,” Rick gasped out, and Daryl waited for whatever reaction he got. Maybe Rick would just stumble back, start collecting the guns, and pretend he didn’t know. Maybe Rick would punch him again.

But the waiting, God, the waiting was the worst.

The reaction came slowly, like the first pale hint of morning tinting the sky a slightly paler navy. Rick tipped his forehead forward, pressing it against Daryl’s, his hand finding the nape of his neck. Daryl held his breath, petrified by the entire moment, by the feeling that everything was about to fundamentally and irrevocably change. Next came the first hint of orange right on the horizon. Rick let his nose brush against Daryl’s, rubbing their foreheads together.

Dawn broke in the form of Rick’s lips finding his as his fingers curled even tighter on the back of his neck. Daryl whimpered into the kiss, even as Rick feverishly claimed his mouth, even as he parted his lips so Rick could swipe his tongue inside.

When Rick finally pulled back, gasping for air, he kept their foreheads tight together, like he was afraid letting go would break the spell on the entire moment.

“Me too, Daryl, me too,” he said, as he guided Daryl back onto the grass on their knees. And then he was under Rick again, the man’s thighs back on either side of his own as he continued to lick into Daryl’s mouth.

And the war could have been over for all they knew by the time they finally stopped, Rick ending the kiss by moving both hands to Daryl’s hair and carding his fingers through it roughly.

“Is that what all this was?” he asked, looking down at him. 

“Said I was an asshole,” Daryl responded, his hand finding Rick’s waist and resting there. Rick slid his palms down to his cheeks, gripping them tightly so Daryl couldn’t have broken eye contact with him if he wanted to. The intensity in his eyes was scalding.

“I love you,” Rick said, swiping at one of his cheeks with his thumb, “so goddamn much.”

And Daryl’s whole body shook with a single sob that he bit back with all his might, knowing full well if he let it go that he'd be a damn mess there on the ground. 

“Love you too,” he said, wishing he could say it with the same intensity and conviction that Rick had while desperately hoping the other man knew that he felt it just as much even if he couldn't. “Sorry I screwed all this up.”

“You didn’t screw anything up.” Rick leaned down and kissed him again. “A few guns don’t change the fact that we’re still gonna win this.”

Daryl nodded, even though he wished the war was over or had never even started so they were free to spend all day there in the grass, kissing and staring at each other with eyes that burned like a truck full of stolen guns.

“Together,” Rick added, before standing up and offering Daryl his hand. And there, staring up at the man who was the center of his entire universe, Daryl nodded and clasped it tightly, letting Rick help pull him off the ground.

“Together." 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at DarylDixonGrimes. Feed me comments to make my empty life 1% more fulfilling. Drink some water.


End file.
